


Holy Hell

by DestielTheShipOfDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Cure, Demon Dean, Fading Grace, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Shipper!Sam, background drowley, dubcon fo sho but not like psychologically abusive dubcon, holy hell is a top ship name, more like cas restrained and not wanting to want it, sam has cas's back, the holy trinity of smut angst and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielTheShipOfDreams/pseuds/DestielTheShipOfDreams
Summary: Castiel brings Dean in to be cured, but not without a struggle that leaves both of them with questions and answers.





	1. determination

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've published a lot of stuff on fanfiction.net but now I've decided to put most of it on here too. This is the one I've chosen to do first because I think it might be my favourite work I've ever published, not sure why. Anyway, enjoy!

Cas isn’t sure what he thinks he’s doing here, or why he thought it was a good idea to come alone and without back up. Without his powers functioning. Without Sam. All he knows is that it’s taken a long time to even get a faint lead on Dean and Crowley’s little honeymoon tour, so when he got the call from his paid-off demon insider that their location was confirmed, he had to move fast.

 

Luckily he’d been within five hour’s drive of the casino-hotel they’d been spotted at. Of course, he called Sam, but he got voice mail. He couldn’t afford to sit and wait for the younger Winchester to get back to him. Sam did call back hours later and insisted that he was already on his way, but reluctantly agreed that Cas should go ahead instead of waiting. He’s an overnight trip away even driving non stop and won’t arrive until almost eight hours after Cas. The angel is alone and horribly weak but he finally has an opening to get to Dean, and he is damn well taking his shot.

 

He’s shaking slightly as he pulls into the mostly deserted car park of the small town casino. It’s a bit run down but clearly aimed at people looking for cheap thrills and drunken fun. Cas has to admit that Dean would have happily spent an evening here even before becoming a demon, but it’s easy to look at the place as a symbol of his friend’s fall from grace.

 

_At least I’m not alone in that experience, now,_  Cas thinks wryly as he climbs out of the car, fingertips curled into his sleeve to touch the handle of his angel blade. He looks around. It’s only about seven and the neon hues of sunset are starting to stain the sky. He can hear music coming from the entrance of the building to his left but otherwise, things are pretty quiet. His contact told him that Crowley often likes to book out whole places for his demonic debauchery. Looks like that’s what’s happened here.

 

Cas takes a deep breath and starts towards the row of rooms facing him, attached to the casino. His contact told him that Dean’s in number six and that he should be in his room until around nine, when he’ll probably hit the bar for the rest of the night, or long enough to drag the nearest willing demon back to his room. Cas tries not to think about the things his old friend might be getting up to nowadays. The feelings that those thoughts stir up are confusing and upsetting.

 

He approaches the door, checking his blade again. He can hear rock music being played inside and he thinks that it reminds him of Dean, before he remembers that it __is__ Dean. Dean is in there. Twisted and blackened, but still Dean. What the hell is Cas going to say? What if Dean’s not alone? What if Cas gets taken out before he can say his piece? What even is his piece?

 

Stamping down upon his terror, the angel draws himself up, squares his aching shoulders and knocks firmly upon the door. The music instantly stops and a moment later, the door swings open. Cas blinks at the empty space in front of him before remembering that of course, demon mojo, Dean no longer needs to physically open doors. He peers into the softly lit room.

 

Dean is sprawled back on the bed with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He’s wearing a black dress shirt open halfway down his chest, fitted black jeans and his hair is longer and combed rakishly to one side. He looks surprised to see his ex-ally standing in his doorway, but his shocked expression quickly morphs into a smirk, green eyes gleaming.

 

Cas stares at him, hating that his immediate reaction to this sight is to think that Dean looks really fucking good. Belatedly, his angelic powers struggle to the surface and he catches a glimpse of Dean’s demonic face; it shocks him out of his idiotic thoughts. His borrowed grace is barely there, though, and the image is gone a moment later, although not forgotten.

 

“Cas,” Dean drawls, and his familiar voice stings Cas sharply. The angel steps into the room, door closing quietly behind him. The old words come naturally to him, though they ache in his chest:

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

The demon’s smile turns more genuine and he swings his legs over the side of the bed, standing up in a smooth movement. Taking a sip of his scotch, he surveys the angel.

 

“Thought you’d show up at some point. Never could shake you, could I?”

 

Cas frowns at him and Dean chuckles, eyes coolly amused. He continues without waiting for Cas’s response.

 

“Didn’t bring the moose then?”

 

Dean never called Sam moose; that was Crowley’s joke. Cas sighs, looking sadly at this parody of his best friend.

 

“Sam is not here. He was too far away and I had to come and talk to you while I knew where to find you.”

 

“Oh, you want to talk? Great! How are things?”

 

Cas narrows his eyes and Dean winks at him. Suddenly, it’s harder to see the differences between this Dean and the one Cas adored.

 

“Dean, don’t play games. You’re still in there. I’ve come to appeal to what’s left of you: come back with me. We can fix this!”

 

“Oh, Cas, baby...” The pet name rolls easily off of Dean’s tongue and Cas feels slightly winded. He never thought he’d hear Dean call him anything like that. The demon gives him a pitying smile which turns mocking with his next words: “It’s not broken.”

 

Cas closes his eyes, turning his head away. This is horrible. Hearing his own words parroted back at him in that smooth, familiar voice, watching the casual cruelty on that well-loved face... But this is what the demon wants. He wants to hurt Cas, break him and drive him away. The angel takes a deep breath and looks back at Dean, who is swirling his drink and observing Cas with interest.

 

“I am not leaving here without you, Dean.”

 

It’s his turn to do some quoting, and Cas watches with grim satisfaction as recognition flickers in Dean’s eyes and his smile disappears.

 

“Cute,” he growls. Suddenly, without any warning, he throws the almost-empty glass at the wall behind Cas, face barely changing with the violent movement. Cas jerks, gripping his angel blade, but before he can draw it he’s thrown backwards and slams into the wall just like the glass. Head ringing from the impact, he slumps against the wall and watches in a daze as Dean saunters towards him, shoulders relaxed but expression zeroed in on the angel.

 

“What exactly did you think you were gonna do, huh?” he asks, eyebrows raised. Cas looks away, ignoring the truth of his words. He’s not being held against the wall. Maybe he should try to fight, overpower him. It’s worth a try. Dean is still talking. “What, did you think you’d just walk in, and we’d stare at each other like the good old days, and run off into the sunset? Hmm?”

 

Cas is slipping the angel blade out as Dean speaks, but of course he notices. He moves fast, snakelike, grabbing Cas’s wrists and pinning them either side of his head. Cas grunts and then sucks in his breath at how close Dean is. His chlorophyll eyes are inches away, sparkling with mirth, every freckle visible on his face, his warm whiskey-tinted breath fanning across the angel’s lips. His smile remains in place as he squeezes Cas’s right wrist mercilessly, watching his victim cry out in pain. Feeling like his bones might actually snap, Cas drops the blade but Dean doesn’t loosen his grip immediately. He watches Cas’s trembling, panting face and glazed eyes for a moment longer, gaze dark and heavy, before giving him relief. He doesn’t let go of his wrists and he doesn’t back away.

 

“I don’t think you’ve quite realised this, bucko,” Dean murmurs, eyes travelling warmly across Cas’s face. “But I am a fucking demon. You think you can mess with me just because we used to be friends?”

 

“Family,” Cas grits out, glaring. “We were family. Does that mean nothing to you, now?”

 

Dean laughs, low and sultry, the sound ghosting across Cas’s skin all the way down to his toes. Then he blinks, and his eyes are black and bottomless. There it is again: a flash of his true face, monstrous and tortured, gone before Cas can really register it. The angel stares into Dean’s inky eyes, shock spiking through him.

 

“What part of ‘demon’ don’t you get?” Dean whispers. Then he blinks again and the human eyes return, pupils dilated but ringed by unmistakable green and blessed white. Cas’s breath hitches with relief and he talks fast, convinced that he can get through.

 

“Dean, please, your brother needs you and I do too. I know that still means something to you. You are not soulless, just damaged.” He speaks earnestly, holding Dean’s gaze, blue eyes shining with hope and faith. Dean smiles fondly, thumbs rubbing softly at Cas’s inner wrists. The angel’s heart stutters.

 

“You are so sweet,” Dean tells Cas, and Cas gives a small huff of disbelieving laughter. Was that really all it took? Has he gotten through?

 

Suddenly, Cas’s arms are wrenched above his head. Dean is holding them there with one hand and with a click of his freed fingers, a pair of handcuffs come zooming out of the duffel bag next to the bed. Dean’s easy smile remains as he catches them without looking, and he winks again at Cas’s confused expression. Then, looking up at Cas’s hands, he clips the cuffs on and pins them up high, so that Cas is stretched almost onto his toes. Cas gives a muffled protest. Dean’s body is pressed against him and their cheeks brush one another, stubble rasping against stubble.

 

Cas’s skin flushes and he mentally curses his ridiculous attraction to the man; this is not the time to be aroused or flustered. _Mind on the job,_  he reminds himself, _it’s not even Dean, not properly._ Craning his neck upwards, he sees that Dean has used demon mojo to retrieve the angel blade from the floor. Dean artfully twists his fingers in mid air and the blade drives into a link of the chain between the handcuffs, securing them firmly to the wall. Dean shifts back slightly and lowers his eyes to Cas’s glare, looking smug. He settles his hands back on the wall at head height, leaning his weight into them.

 

“That’s better,” he says in a low voice. “I do love me some handcuffs, don’t you?”

 

Cas doesn’t reply, only inhales deeply through his nose, eyes still narrowed and mouth set. Dean tuts, his gaze wandering casually over the angel’s lips before moving back up again.

 

“You really shouldn’t have come here. You do know that, right? I would have stayed away if you’d left it alone, but now...” he trails off, eyes burning. Cas tugs ineffectually at the handcuffs, but the blade was driven deep into the wall and he’s weak anyway, not even strong by human standards at the moment. Despite himself, Cas wonders what Dean was about to say. _But now... what?_ Dean’s quiet laugh catches his attention.

 

“Oh, Cas. Poor little angel. You really thought you could do it, didn’t you? Thought you could charge in here and win me back with talk of friendship... And loyalty...”

 

He leans in, lips to Cas’s ear, and the angel stills. Dean whispers, his voice dripping with amusement. “Our ‘profound bond’. Hmm?”

 

Cas closes his eyes, furious that Dean is yet again using his own words against him. When he opens them, the demon has pulled back to stare at him, full lips quirked upwards. Cas opens his mouth and is about to retort when Dean speaks again.

 

“I mean, seriously? You think you can save me from being a demon with the power of your boner?”

 

Cas freezes, a slightly panicked frown settling on his face. What the hell is this? Dean cocks his head to one side, clearly enjoying Cas’s reaction.

 

“Did you think I didn’t know about your little crush?”

 

No. This isn’t happening. Cas’s heart is thundering in his chest and he feels suddenly nauseous. Dean chuckles, leaning in again to speak into the angel’s ear.

 

“Of course I knew. Everyone knows. I just never said anything because... Well, I couldn’t let you know that I felt the same way, now could I?”

 

Cas’s face twists with pain and he jerks his head away from Dean’s mouth, hands fisting above the cuffs.

 

“Fuck you,” he rasps, throat tight. Dean follows him, breathing a laugh against the sensitive shell of his ear, making him tremble.

 

“Got a bit of a dirty tongue tonight, haven’t we Cas?” He pauses and then pulls back, gaze smouldering as he stares at the angel. “It’s true though. Damn, I used to fantasise about you in all sorts of ways.”

 

Cas’s eyes go wide, his mouth slack. He stares back at Dean in confusion and disbelief even as his body reacts to the words. He shakes his head infinitesimally, a silent denial. Dean smirks and brings one hand off of the wall to finger Cas’s collar, watching the skin beneath it flush.

 

“Hmm,” he murmurs, seemingly to himself. He glances back up at the breathless angel before flicking the top button of the shirt open. “I got pretty creative about it, too. Downright dirty, if I’m honest. God only knows how many ways I dreamed up for us to fuck.”

 

He says the last part boldly, staring straight at Cas, who makes a weak sort of pleading sound, shaking his head again but unable - or unwilling - to form words. Dean’s smile is gone, his gaze hungry. He stares at Cas’s mouth for a long moment before returning to undoing buttons slowly, one by one, using both hands now. When he speaks his tone is low but conversational.

 

“You ever have a favourite fantasy of us, Cas? I did. Wanna know what it was?” His fingers tug Cas forward slightly by the shirt as he looks back up, that damned smirk returning. He speaks against Cas’s cheek, voice wicked.

 

“Back of the Impala.”

 

Cas’s eyes flutter shut and he sags against his bonds, biting his lip with a quiet moan. Shit, shit, how does he know? How many times has Cas stared at the back seat of that stupid car and imagined himself pressed down against it, skin caressed by cool leather and rough hands? Dean is grinning against his neck, tugging another button undone, fingers brushing the bare skin on Cas’s lower rib cage and making him twitch.

 

“You too, huh?” he breathes hotly and Cas gulps, eyes still closed, breath coming fast and shallow. This is insane. Dean likes women, strictly women. Dean has always made it clear that he sees Cas as a brother. Dean would be horrified to know how Cas daydreams of him, how he watches him and wants him, how much further than simple friendship his love reaches. But this IS Dean, close enough that his familiar scent is making Cas dizzy, watching him with lustful eyes and whispering about fucking him. Insane, insane, insane.

 

“Imagine it now, Cas,” he’s saying softly, smoothly. “Summer night, we’re parked up somewhere, hot, sweaty-”

 

“Stop.” Cas’s voice is rough and shaking but loud. To his shock, Dean does fall silent and his hands still on the last button, the backs of his knuckles still resting on Cas’s tense stomach. He pulls back, eyebrows raised.

 

“Oh?” His voice is dangerously even. Cas’s gaze is steady and angry but his lips are parted and trembling.

 

“Stop,” he repeats. “You’re lying. Dean has never... YOU have never felt that way abou- about me. I don’t know what game you’re playing here but it’s...”

 

He stops and swallows, eyes bright and pained. Dean gives a small, surprised huff of laughter.

 

“Wow,” he says in what seems to be genuine surprise. “You poor, sorry bastard. I really put on a good act, didn’t I?”

 

Cas frowns, face hard and shuttered. Dean grabs his chin suddenly, thumb dragging across his lower lip, imitating the movement on his own mouth using his tongue. Cas exhales in a rush and his head spins.

 

“Oh, baby...” Dean drawls and the angel almost whimpers again, horrified at how much he likes that stupid fucking word. “You are just way too much fun.”

 

With that, he kisses Cas, crowding in and pinning him to the wall with his whole body, hand sliding into his hair and twisting harshly. His other hand pushes into Cas’s open shirt, fingers digging into his bare waist. Cas isn’t really in control of the sounds he’s making against Dean’s tongue and he’s sure that later, he’s going to be mortified that an angel of the Lord was reduced to such a mess by mere desire. He’s just too human nowadays for his own good.


	2. capitulation

Dean is aggressive at first, licking his way into the angel’s eager mouth and grinding his hips forward. But he eases off quickly and his hands relax, smoothing over Cas’s messy hair and heated skin. His kiss softens and deepens and he makes a satisfied noise as he feels Cas melt against him, moaning weakly and practically dangling from the handcuffs. He ponders smugly whether his angel was this helpless when that reaper bitch April touched him. Doubtful.

 

The thought irks him, though, and he breaks away from the kiss, keeping his hands on Cas. He stares at the angel, who is almost panting, head drooping forward and eyes still closed, lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. His lips are even more pink and swollen than usual. His hair, usually in some semblance of order, is a tousled mess, dark locks flopping forward over his forehead.

 

Not for the first time since becoming a demon, Dean wonders how the hell he managed to keep his hands to himself when he was human. Sure, he had enormous hang ups about his sexuality, but looking at Cas now he can’t imagine denying himself something so sinfully delicious... an actual innocent angel, ripe for corruption. He shrugs. It’s not a problem now, and he can keep Cas here all night, all to himself, and corrupt him past the point of no return.

 

“Finally,” he says out loud, voice hoarse. Cas looks up at Dean slowly. Eyes hooded, pupils blown, the ocean colour has turned an inky blue-black. Even muddled by lust and roiling with emotion, he manages to muster up a pissed off expression.

 

“Why...” His voice is barely a crackle and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “Why are you doing this?”

 

He does his trademark squint then, suspicious and confused. Dean snorts with laughter at the idea that Cas thinks he has some kind of evil master plan based around cuffing him to a wall and having his way with him. He untangles his hand from the angel’s soft hair and leans his forearm on the wall, keeping his other hand tracing patterns on Cas’s bare hip inside his open shirt.

 

“Because I want to,” he explains as though to a particularly slow child. Cas’s squint increases, his mouth dropping open as he struggles to process this.

 

“No,” he says eventually, a simple denial of what he’s being told. Dean rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. He’s already sick of this conversation. He decides that he needs to take charge; Cas can have a self-esteem crisis when Dean’s done with him. With this thought in mind, the demon flashes a wicked grin.

 

“Yes,” he assures him in a deep growl, before ducking his head and beginning a trail of hot, biting kisses across the angel’s throat and clavicle. Cas groans and tips his head back as Dean sucks greedily at his pulse point. Inhaling the smell of Cas’s skin, Dean makes his way down across his chest, laving his tongue across a nipple and hearing stuttered breath above him. Laughing softly against Cas’s abdomen, he falls to his knees and begins to undo Cas’s belt.

 

He hears his name, whispered like a prayer, and he slowly drags his eyes up Cas’s heaving, bite-marked torso. The angel is staring down at him with a strange mixture of arousal and trepidation. Dean smiles darkly, green eyes shimmering and holding Cas’s gaze as he takes off the belt and undoes the zipper. He doesn’t break eye contact even as he wraps a sure hand around Cas’s stiff cock, and the grin is still somehow there as he licks his leisurely way from base to tip. Dean thinks that he has never enjoyed a facial expression as much as Cas’s in that moment; his mouth is hanging open in shock, eyes black with desire but glazed with utter disbelief.

 

Dean is aware that he should probably take things slow and not overwhelm Cas, but he’s a demon, after all. This, as with everything else now, is about him, and he quickly decides that he wants to undo his angel as completely as possible. To that end, he keeps staring right at Cas as he swirls his tongue around the head and then draws the whole thing into his mouth, sucking and pressing and dragging his tongue across the tip. He’s had this done on him more times than he can remember, but only recently has he started to explore performing the act himself. Still, he thinks he does a pretty decent job. He has to close his eyes a few times to really put some effort in, but as soon as he opens them he latches onto Cas’s ruined gaze again, smirking around his mouthful.

 

Cas looks close to passing out; he seems unable to blink or look away and that dumbfounded expression is still there, although his chest is heaving and his breath is coming in wrecked gasps and undignified whimpers. Pulling Cas as deep as he can take him, Dean gives a low chuckle. That does it. Cas finally screws his eyes shut, giving a strangled cry and jerking his hips forward.

 

“Shit,” he whispers once he’s caught his breath, his voice sounding broken and weak. Dean lets go with a popping sound and grins wolfishly, running both hands firmly up and down the angel’s trembling thighs.

 

“I would hope not,” he teases, still licking his lips. Cas opens his eyes, looking concerned.

 

“No, Dean, I wasn’t referring to what you just did. That was... Definitely not shit.”

 

Dean gives a startled, genuine laugh and stands up, smiling into Cas’s eyes. Fitting his hands to the angel’s jaw, he dips in and presses a firm kiss to his lips. He mumbles against his mouth:

 

“I’d forgotten what a dipshit you are.”

 

He kisses him again, slow and languorous, enjoying the way that a decent orgasm seems to have lowered the angel’s defences. Cas is pliant against him, warm and giving. Dean hums his approval against soft lips then lets go and steps back. He drops his hands to Cas’s waist, playing with his shirt and staring idly at the pleasant contours of his chest and stomach.

 

Cas coughs uncomfortably at the perusal and says in almost a whisper: “Dean... My trousers are still undone.”

 

Dean smirks downwards, clearly unconcerned. “So they are.”

 

The angel shifts against the wall, body tense, frowning heavily. He’s not usually very bothered by nudity, but he already feels vulnerable enough like this, at Dean’s mercy in every possible way. “Can you do them up?”

 

Meeting Cas’s pleading eyes, Dean snorts and turns away suddenly, walking towards the bed.

 

“Do them up yourself, Romeo.” He snaps his fingers carelessly and the handcuffs are gone. Cas almost slides down the wall, legs barely able to hold his weight. Glaring at Dean’s broad back, Cas tugs his pants into place and fumbles for his zipper with numb fingers. Then he leans his head back, breathing hard, shocked and dismayed at how utterly wrecked he feels.

 

The only time he’s ever actually come before was when he was human, and that just made him feel pleasantly tired. He knows that physical reactions are more intense for angels, but when he’s at full power he has the strength and control to withstand such overwhelming sensations, like pain and varying temperatures; he assumes that extreme pleasure wouldn’t be incapacitating for a normal angel either. But he’s weak, surviving on a whisper of ill-fitting grace and rapidly thinning willpower. What Dean’s just done has reduced him to a trembling, dizzy mess barely able to stand.

 

He hates it, hates how much he wanted it, hates how easy it was to forget how wrong it felt, hates how a part of him is rejoicing that becoming a demon appears to have made Dean want him. He’s never been selfish where Dean Winchester is concerned and he doesn’t want to start now.

 

Pushing himself upright, Cas watches Dean pour himself another tumbler of scotch from the bottle on the nightstand. His heart aches but his resolve is as firm as ever; he has to save this man, always, no matter what. Glancing up, he sees the angel blade sticking out from the wall. He checks Dean again, but his attention appears to be focused on the drink in his hand. Cas swallows hard and then looks back up at the blade, intending to grab it and attempt something stupid.

 

The blade is gone.

 

Cas closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. He slowly looks back to the bed and opens his eyes. Dean is smirking at him, twirling the blade in his fingers the way Cas taught him to years beforehand, the lesson sweetened by endless suppressed smiles and shy, electric brushing of fingers.

 

“Looking for this?” he asks, amused. Cas sways and leans back against the wall, glaring. Dean snickers and sits back on the bed, swinging his feet up and languishing against the headboard. He jerks his head at the space next to him. Cas doesn’t move, splaying his fingers on the wall behind him. Dean’s smile vanishes and he points the blade at Cas.

 

“Get on the bed,” he commands in a flat voice. The angel gulps and slowly pushes off from the wall, stumbling over to the bed and crawling up to the indicated spot. Flopping onto his back, Cas closes his eyes and lets out a shaky puff of air. He can feel Dean watching him curiously.

 

“You’re in bad shape, Cas.”

 

Opening his eyes blearily, Cas looks up at the demon beside him, who is taking a sip of whiskey and slowly rotating the tip of the angel blade into the mattress beside him.

 

“Borrowed grace is running low,” Cas explains shortly. Dean raises his eyebrows and then nods as though this is mildly interesting but not of great importance. Cas grits his teeth, remembering all the times that Dean’s panicked and fretted over his wellbeing. He wants that man back so badly it’s agonising.

 

“You dying then?”

 

Cas stares at the ceiling with blank eyes, his breathing steady now. “Yes.”

 

Dean whistles low and knocks back another mouthful of drink. “Damn. What happens to dead angels, Cas?”

 

Cas doesn’t reply. He’s not interested in this conversation. His head hurts but otherwise, he’s recovering fast physically; he no longer feels shaky or dizzy. At least the grace is still good for something. Dean doesn’t seem bothered by his silence. Draining his glass, he sets it back on the bedside table and without any warning, twists and swings his leg over Cas so he’s straddling the angel, leaning forward on his left hand, blade still gleaming in his right. Cas freezes and stares up at Dean. His heart rate picks up and his breathing hitches.

 

“You know, angel,” Dean says conversationally, that fucking smirk back again. “I’m real glad you came to visit. Been thinking about you a lot, although that’s nothing new.”

 

As he speaks, he casually places the tip of the blade at Cas’s throat, amused eyes fixed on the point. Cas’s lips are parted and quick, tense breaths are puffing past them. He says nothing, fingers digging into the mattress.

 

“I don’t know how it is for angels,” Dean continues, drawing a neat little circle on Cas’s Adam’s apple. “But for humans, there’s a fine fine line between pleasure and pain. As the song says.”

 

He grins into Cas’s eyes at this point, and despite himself the angel frowns in confusion. What song? Dean laughs softly, looking back at the blade. He digs it in a little, not enough to cut but enough to hurt, and Cas gasps, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Dean licks his lips as he draws the blade downwards, scraping across the hollow between Cas’s collarbones and onto his sternum.

 

Cas bites his lip, not sure what to feel or think. He’s frightened, but at the same time he’s pretty confident that Dean won’t actually stab him, so the fear is thin and superficial. Something about Dean’s intense gaze and the coldness of the metal on his skin is sort of... thrilling, and he’s not really in a position to analyse that. His stomach jolts as Dean stares at him and twists the point of the blade into Cas’s chest, breaking the skin slightly. Cas hisses in pain and shock, eyes darting to the injury. A tiny flash of grace flickers in the wound but it’s gone straight away; the break is too small to do any real damage. A drop of blood beads up, quickly gathering and rolling back towards the angel’s neck.

 

Swooping down, Dean licks up the blood, running his tongue hotly across the smooth skin before sitting back up again. Cas whimpers at the contact and then stares dazedly at the demon above him, disturbed yet fascinated by the action. Dean is breathing a little fast and he blinks slowly at Cas. His eyes turn jet.

 

Breathing in sharply, Cas gazes into the black eyes, seeing the true demonic visage flicker nightmarishly over the sensual features of his favourite human. His heart is thundering and he feels lightheaded again, although not physically weakened yet. He knows that he should feel disgust and fear yet he licks his lips hungrily as Dean trails the blade down from the small cut, dragging the point just hard enough to leave a white scrape mark on the skin. He stops just above Cas’s belly button, liquid black eyes moving across the firm muscles and lips quirking smugly.

 

“Mine,” he barely breathes, tracing out the word across his angel’s taut stomach with the point of the blade. Cas’s skin jumps and he closes his eyes, making a distressed yet demanding sound in his throat, biting down on his lip. The metal nicking at his skin is a cold, jagged, scratchy sort of discomfort, but Cas feels overheated and to his frustration, he can feel himself getting hard again. He’s going mad, he must be.

 

The blade leaves his skin and a splintering thud near his head makes him jump; Dean must have stabbed the weapon into the bedside table. He opens his eyes in time to see Dean descend upon him, gaze burning green fire again. The demon’s mouth clashes with his, fingers carding through his hair and pelvis rocking insistently against his own. Cas makes a noise of what sounds like protest but it’s belied by his eager hands, running up Dean’s thighs and skimming over his ass. Dean growls against Cas’s tongue and, in an impressive feat of maneuvering, he rolls them over whilst also shimmying up into a sitting postion.

 

Cas follows breathlessly, chasing Dean’s mouth and nipping at his lips, quickly becoming lost to desire. He’s unaware that he’s being tugged upright until he finds himself arranged in Dean’s lap, chests pressed together, thighs either side of the demon’s hips. Trying to pull back but finding himself held in place, he blushes furiously at the intimate position. When he walked into the room he was a barely even a sexual being, having only partaken in intercourse once and only ever really having lustful thoughts about one man. To find himself spread messily across the lap of that man, touched all over by his hands and eyes, feeling his arousal rub against his thigh... It’s overwhelming.

 

Dean either doesn’t notice how Cas is unravelling, or doesn’t care. He sucks mercilessly at the angel’s throat until it bruises, mumbling approval at the low moans his ministrations produce. His hands are busy undoing Cas’s tie and shoving his coat, jacket and shirt off of his shoulders, leaving Cas to wriggle his arms free. Boldly, Dean runs his palms up from Cas’s trousers to his shoulders, feeling the texture of the skin. His fingers skitter across Cas’s broad chest, rubbing at the hard nipples then ghosting over the sensitive skin on his sides, the movements rough and greedy.

 

Cas is unaware of the noises he’s making as he tugs his arms out of the tangled material behind him. He groans out Dean’s name just before his lips are captured in a deep kiss. Head spinning, he allows himself to be kissed rather than kiss back; he’s busy trying to fumble Dean’s shirt buttons open. He manages it fairly quickly  and wrenches the material off of the strong, freckled shoulders. Opening his eyes and pulling back from the kiss, he stares in fascination at the bare chest, licking his lips unconsciously. His blue eyes are once again almost black, the pupils fully blown as he gazes at the old tattoo over one pectoral. Ducking his head down, he presses a kiss to it.

 

Dean chuckles breathlessly, running one hand through the mess of dark hair, closing his eyes as he feels warm lips upon his skin. Cas settles one hand on Dean’s bare waist, fingers digging in to the thick flesh and muscle there. His other hand goes to Dean’s left shoulder, unerringly placing itself without hesitation and with startling tenderness over its long-gone imprint. The demon freezes at the touch, at the protectiveness and adoration communicated through the gentle pressure. No.

 

Wrenching back, he grabs Cas’s offending hand from his shoulder. The angel brings his head up to eye level, breathing hard. Dean doesn’t want to discuss this. He just wants to feel good. Staring into glazed barely-blue eyes, he pushes Cas’s hand down to his stomach and then lower. Cas bites his lip, the action unintentionally arousing, and Dean keeps one hand on Cas’s while he uses his other to fumble his own zipper open. Holding Cas’s helpless gaze, he pulls Cas to touch him, sinking teeth into his lower lip in a mirror image of the angel. Cas exhales in a rush and slowly looks down, mouth parted and cheeks blazing as he strokes Dean’s cock, bumping against Dean’s own fingers.

 

“Look at me,” Dean bites out and Cas jerks his head up, startled. He stares at Dean as though hypnotised, feeling rough fingers guide his own movements, surer and firmer and faster by the second. Then Dean is kissing him again, moaning and swearing into his mouth. Their bare chests bump together and Dean snakes his free hand around Cas’s waist, fingers splaying against the small of his back to pull him flush against his torso, their hands still moving and sliding between them. Dean’s mouth slips wetly down to Cas’s neck, latching on as his hips jerk and buck them both. It’s hot and slippery and Cas thinks dizzily of the old Impala fantasies, sweat on leather-

 

“Cas, fuck, oh, fuck...” Dean almost keens into the angel’s skin as he comes and Cas gasps at the heat of it on his fingers and stomach. Dean is shaking and limp in his arms, sweat sliding against him and lips damp on his shoulder. Cas kisses the dishevelled brown hair as his mind clears.

 

The moment should be wonderful, intimate and quiet and close. But Cas is trembling, his throat tight and his eyes burning. It’s too close to everything Cas has wanted since he met the hunter, but he can’t forget how twisted it is. It’s not real and he has to put Dean first. He screws his eyes shut, wanting just a few more seconds of this for himself.

 

The door slams open.


	3. abduction

Cas’s head snaps around and he sees Crowley standing in the doorway, coat flapping in the night breeze. His brown eyes are round with disbelief as he looks at the two shirtless men entwined on the bed. He throws out a hand towards them, palm upwards and fingers spread wide.

 

“What the fuck is this?” he demands incredulously, eyes on Dean. Cas looks back at the demon in his arms, whose face only betrays a flicker of irritation as he raises his head from Cas’s shoulder and stares at his partner in crime.

 

“Crowley,” he drawls in greeting, utterly unconcerned, fingers drumming lightly on Cas’s back. The older demon narrows his eyes.

 

“Dean,” he mock-replies, even giving the smallest of fake bows. His voice is dripping with annoyance and accusation. He turns his disgusted gaze on Cas.

 

“Castiel.” This time the bow has more of a flourish and the sarcasm is almost a physical presence. Cas nods his head in polite greeting anyway, grabbing his shirt from behind him and pulling it on as he tries to slide off of Dean’s lap. Dean holds him there, still looking at Crowley calmly. The King of Hell glares at him.

 

“So this is where you’ve been instead of keeping to our dinner plans? In here, fucking the angel? Well, that’s just bloody charming.”

 

Dean smirks. “Hey, man, don’t be jealous. It’s not a good look on you.”

 

“Jealous?” Crowley’s voice shoots up an octave. “Me? Jealous of your feathery friend here? Don’t flatter yourself, Squirrel.”

 

Cas stares down at his fingers as he buttons his shirt, feeling increasingly like he’s ceased to exist in the room. He wishes he had his wings so that he could make that illusion a reality. Dean chuckles low as he reaches behind Cas too, grabbing the angel’s suit jacket and casually using it to wipe both of their stomachs clean, before tossing it aside and doing up his jeans. Cas gapes at him in outrage but Dean doesn’t even look at him, still focused on the man in the doorway.

 

“Crowley, come on,” he croons, all charm. “If you wanted to join us, you just had to say so.”

 

Cas chokes in shock. “Dean, I do not -”

 

Dean looks at him and winks, cutting across him. “Shush, baby.”

 

The pet name, for once, does not make Cas melt. He glares furiously and wrenches himself off of Dean’s lap, kneeling on the bed and yanking his coat on, stuffing the tie angrily into a pocket. He glances at Crowley to find the older demon giving him an appraising look.

 

“Well, that does seem fair,” he concedes, shrugging and giving Dean a cheeky smirk. “Glad you finally got to cross him off your bucket list, anyway. Now I just need to get hold of your brother.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes as though this is an old joke. “Go ahead and try, dude’ll smoke you.”

 

“Nah,” replies Crowley. “Not my Moose. It’s true love, Dean, you know that.”

 

He winks lazily and then shoves his hands into his pockets, looking back at Cas, who’s staring between the two demons with a look on his face that can only be described as ‘freaked out’.

 

“Stick around for a while if you like, old compadre,” he says breezily. “See if you’ve still got some bad boy in you. Although if you haven’t, I’m sure Squirrel here will take care of that with pleasure.”

 

He smiles evilly, blows a kiss to Dean and sweeps out of the room, door clicking shut behind him. Dean laughs at Cas’s deeply offended expression.

 

“Oh, man, you should see your face...” he chuckles, glancing behind him to grab his shirt and shrug it on. In the moment he’s not looking, he fails to observe pain, determination and then a curiously blank look slide through Cas’s eyes, as well as the quick flash of his hand disappearing into his coat pocket.

 

“Dean,” Cas says quietly. The demon does up the middle button of his shirt and looks up, cocking his head to one side. Cas leans closer to him, glancing up at him through his lashes. “This is all... incredibly confusing. I’m still not sure what to think. But I’m willing to concede that maybe I was wrong about your being a demon. I wasn’t expecting you to still be so... you. Or to be so, uh... welcoming.”

 

He smiles shyly and Dean grins, leaning forward to kiss him.

 

“Glad to hear that, angel,” he murmurs against Cas’s lips. He pulls back, his expression serious as he continues in a low voice. “Me as a human... I was never going to let myself want you. I was always going to deny it. It was part of me. But now I don’t care about that shit. I can give you what you need.”

 

He purrs the last part, reaching out to tug Cas’s shirt closer and closing his eyes...

 

Only to pull back and hiss in shock as Cas snaps a pair of devil’s trap handcuffs onto his wrists, before leaping off of the bed and wrenching his angel blade out of the bedside table in one fluid movement. He backs away, holding the blade out in a shaking hand, eyes tortured. Dean snarls in rage and scrambles off the bed too, advancing slowly upon him.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” the distraught angel murmurs, voice thick and cracked. “But I love you, for more than just your body. It’s your soul I’m trying to save. That’s more important to me. _That’s_ what I need.”

 

Dean swears softly, eyes black as coal, and Cas gives a sad, humourless smile. “I suppose this makes us even, where handcuffs are concerned.”

 

Dean leaps at him, face feral and cuffed hands swinging like a club. Cas whirls elegantly out of the way and winces as he plunges the blade deep into the demon’s shoulder. Dean gives a yell and stumbles to his knees, teeth clenched around a horrendous, agonised choking sound. Cas fumbles in his inner pocket, blinking away the tears in his eyes, and pulls out a small slip of paper, reading it silently and committing it to memory even as he struggles to keep Dean restrained.

 

He still has one hand gripping the blade and he twists it brutally as Dean makes to fight his way back to his feet. The demon tosses his head, crying out at the pain and crumpling in on himself. Cas stares down at him with a heartbroken expression as he shoves the paper back in his pocket and brings out a small drawstring pouch. Letting go of the blade, he instead grabs a fistful of Dean’s short hair and jerks his head upwards.

 

Looking into Dean’s pitch-black eyes, Cas shoves the pouch between his teeth and claps his hand over the top to stop him from spitting it out. Dean is making violent noises in his throat and is thrashing underneath Cas’s hands, trying to get up; Cas can barely hold him down. Raising his shaking voice, Cas recites the Swahili verse from his pocket, watching as dark blue smoke wisps out of Dean’s mouth and through Cas’s fingers. His black eyes go wide and he seizes up for a moment before keeling over, unconscious and silent at the angel’s feet.

 

Cas stands there for a few seconds, chest heaving, cheeks wet. He touches them wearily. He’s hardly ever wept in his entire ancient existence, but when he does it’s always over Dean Winchester. He feels exhausted but for once, not physically, although he knows that won’t last long. He needs to act fast.

 

Reluctantly leaving Dean sprawled on the floor, Cas ducks his head out of the door to make sure that no one’s around. Striding across to his car, he reverses it as quickly as possible right up to the door of number six, leaving only a few feet of space between car and building. Opening the trunk, Cas hurries back into the room and gingerly pulls his blade out of Dean, wiping it absently on his own trousers before stowing it back in its rightful spot. He grabs Dean by the armpits and hauls him to the door.

 

Checking again that no one’s around, Cas makes one last heaving effort and manages to drag and lift Dean into the trunk of the car, making sure that the devil’s trap on the inside of the lid is intact. He shuts the room door behind him. Tucking all of the demon’s limbs safely inside, he grabs the duct tape from the trunk. Placing a length over Dean’s mouth to keep the sleeping spell bag inside him, Cas also wraps Dean’s ankles together for good measure. He pauses and lays a gentle hand on Dean’s brow for a moment, eyes stinging again.

 

“You’ll be alright,” he whispers sadly. Shutting the trunk, he gets into the car and drives steadily out of the parking lot, not daring to look around too much. He waits until he’s out of sight of the casino before really hitting the gas, and watches obsessively for anyone tailing him for a good twenty minutes. When he’s sure it’s safe, he pulls out his cell and calls Sam, keeping the conversation as short as possible. They agree to meet at the bunker; Sam will probably get there first, so he’ll get everything ready.

 

The drive passes in a blur. Cas only stops once, to get gas and to splash his face with cold water. He’s fading pretty fast, but he’ll get through the drive. He doesn’t take his foot off the accelerator for the entire journey. When he arrives at the bunker, he texts Sam and leans against his car, waiting, vision blurred and hands shaking. The younger Winchester appears in front of him without Cas hearing him approach, his face white and tense in the moonlight. He pulls Cas into a tight, one-armed hug and doesn’t question the tear rolling down his face as he pulls away, even though he’s never seen the angel actually cry before.

 

“You look like you’ve been to Hell and back,” says Sam without thinking, before making a face and groaning at his own terrible phrasing. But Cas cracks a weary smile.

 

“Yes,” he replies quietly. “That all seems very simple now.”

 

Sam stares at him and then swallows. He looks at the trunk, clearly nervous.

 

“The spell worked?” he asks unnecessarily. Cas nods. Sam takes a deep breath and walks to the trunk, popping it open and staring down at his unconscious, bound, gagged, bloodstained brother, shoved awkwardly into a cramped position.

 

“Huh,” he says with a small smile. “He’s looked worse.”

 

“Sam,” Cas croaks, swaying on the spot. “I’m very weak. We have to get him inside so you can begin... I won’t be able to stay conscious for much longer.”

 

Sam touches his friend’s arm, looking worried, but Cas waves him off. “Let’s carry him inside, I don’t know if that sleeping spell lasts indefinitely.”

 

It’s hard work with Sam only having one good arm, but between them they manage to drag Dean into the bunker and all the way down to the dungeon. Cas slumps against the wall and watches Sam secure his brother carefully in the chair. Checking that Sam has all the information and equipment he needs, Cas ignores his fervent thanks and stumbles out of the room, wandering through the corridors, trailing his hand along the walls.

 

He comes to stop in front of a familiar door. He’s barely set foot in Dean’s room, ever, but he’s got every detail of it committed to memory. Pushing the door open, he steps inside and flicks the switch. Light falls on the room, illuminating all the little trinkets and prized possessions of one Dean Winchester.

 

 _The real Dean,_ thinks Cas, drifting over to the bed. _Sweet Dean. Caring Dean. Righteous Dean. The Dean who looks at me and sees family._

__

Everything aches, so Cas collapses onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow. It only smells of him faintly; after all, he hasn’t been here for months. Cas can feel oblivion coming so he lies still and waits for it, unused to the sensation of falling asleep. He thinks of the demonic version of Dean who touched him and kissed him and made him feel things he hadn’t realised existed. He knows it’s wrong but he’ll always wish, a little bit, that he’d been utterly selfish and just stayed with him, enjoying the illusion of having his human love him back.

 

Cas sighs. It’s never been about getting anything back, though. Even after he knew what to call his feelings, he never felt cheated or angry that they were unrequited. Frustrated, sad, wistful, but he never blamed Dean or expected more from him than he was able to give. Cas decides, on the edge of consciousness, that the experience with Dean’s demonic self was probably more than he ever could have hoped to have; he should really be thankful for it. His last thought before the blackness swallows him up is that between Meg, April and Dean, he’s developing a very concerning love life.

 

It seems like seconds later that he jerks awake, blinking in the electric light of the room. It must be hours, though, because Cas feels much improved physically; still weak and weary, but functional. He rolls onto his back and thinks that he should have a shower, because he just doesn’t have the mojo to waste on cleaning himself. He wonders how many needles Sam’s gotten through with Dean yet, but even as he thinks this he hears his name being spoken.

 

Sitting up slowly, Cas sees Sam leaning in the doorway, eyes unreadable. He looks like he’s been standing there for a while, watching Cas sleep. _Makes a change,_ the angel thinks wryly. He smiles uncertainly at Sam, who doesn’t smile back but walks slowly into the room, sitting on the bed and staring at the floor. Cas’s heart sinks. This is about Dean.

 

“Cas,” Sam says again, his voice hoarse. He looks exhausted and sad. Cas waits, frowning. “Cas, Dean... He’s been saying stuff since he woke up. Heaps of stuff, but some of it... Well, a lot of it, really, was about you.”

 

He looks up finally, hazel eyes worried and... pitying? Cas averts his gaze. “Oh.”

 

Sam clears his throat. “Firstly, he’s mentioned that your grace situation is pretty desperate. I’ve been thinking about that lately and I’m thinking that if you really can’t get your own grace back... You should cut this grace out and live as a human. Better than dying as an angel, man.”

 

Cas nods slowly. “I suppose that does make sense.”

 

“Good. Don’t want you running out on us.”

 

Cas smiles thinly at him and then speaks quickly as Sam opens his mouth again.

 

“How long has he been awake?”

 

Sam watches him closely. “Since the beginning. I didn’t know if the sleeping spell would affect the reversal treatment, so I took that off him straight away. And that was about eight hours ago.”

 

“Eight hours? That’s good. Do you see a change yet?”

 

Sam shrugs. “I think so, but could be wishful thinking. He’s still a dick, but maybe that’s nothing to do with being a demon.”

 

Cas doesn’t respond. He fiddles with the hem of his coat, face blank. Finally he looks up and says: “You must be tired.”

 

Sam swallows and shifts uncomfortably on the bed. “Cas, he’s been saying some things about what happened between you...”

 

Cas closes his eyes and Sam pauses, then continues. “Needless to say I’m pretty pissed off at him, if there was any part of him that had a hand in hurting you. But mostly I’m really worried about you... Cas, are you OK? This is pretty screwed up situation to be in, for anyone.”

 

Cas opens his eyes again and they’re bright and glassy. He gives Sam a trembling smile before dropping his gaze again. “Thank you, Sam. I believe I’ll be alright as long as Dean’s alright. As for what he did... He didn’t really harm me physically, and I... He would have stopped, I think, if I’d really asked. Anyway. It wasn’t really him. Not the Dean we know. Dean doesn’t... Well, I’m sure he’ll be the most upset about it when he’s back to normal.”

 

Cas’s gut twists with the last words as he imagines how horrified and disgusted and confused Dean will be when he regains his humanity. Will he even be able to look at Cas? Cas blinks down at his hands and he hears Sam sigh.

 

“Yeah, that’s true. Can’t really imagine anything screwing Dean up much more than this, actually. But Cas, it’s not your fault. If anything, Dean should be taking a good look at why being a demon made him act the way he has. There are things that I think Dean could really learn from this, if he can keep hold of his sanity.”

 

Cas nods, not really sure what Sam is talking about, but too emotionally drained to ask. There’s another pause before Sam claps the angel on the shoulder, getting up awkwardly from the bed. “I’ll come get you when it’s done, if you like, or would you rather stay away for a bit?”

 

Cas thinks about and then shakes his head slowly. “You have some time with Dean first. If... If he wants to see me, I’ll be here. If he doesn’t then you come let me know, and I’ll get into my car and leave, if that’s what’s best.”

 

Cas’s voice is even and steady but his stomach clenches at the thought of just leaving. Sam snorts, surprising him. “Don’t be such a fucking martyr, Cas. He’ll see you if I have to drag the damn chair in here with him still on it. I’ll see you later, OK?”

 

Cas breaks into a genuine smile. “Thanks, Sam.”

 

“No problem.”


	4. restoration

Returning to humanity is waking up and dying all at once. Dean’s throat is raw from screaming; he can taste blood and his eyes sting and ache. The vile, furious thoughts are still rattling around in his head from when he was snarling them at his brother just minutes beforehand, but they feel foreign now, as though someone else put them there. His body feels like a ruin and he’s not even sure what emotion is twisting his gut, but it’s not pleasant.

 

Opening his eyes, he meets Sam’s red-rimmed gaze. The poor kid looks like he belongs in intensive care, pale and shaking and gaunt. The arm sling doesn’t help the picture. Dean belatedly realises that the handcuffs are gone and he’s wearing a matching sling; he vaguely remembers Sam injecting him with morphine, within the past hour, which would explain the dulled pain of his injured shoulder. The sling must have been done whilst he was delirious from the final injection.

 

“Sammy?” Dean whispers, his voice a pitiful rasp. Sam half-sobs in relief and then fumbles behind him without looking. He grabs a cup and jerks it toward Dean, who blinks in surprise as the holy water splashes across his face. It doesn’t burn at all and Sam gives a small, hysterical laugh, stumbling across the devil’s trap and falling to his knees before his brother. He grabs his good shoulder, shaking him slightly.

 

“You’re back,” he whispers, tears in his hazel eyes, joy in his smile. “I got you back.”

 

Dean breaks into a weak grin, truly glad to be reunited, but the smile drops a moment later as Sam continues to speak.

 

“Well, we got you back. Me and Cas.”

 

Dean’s head spins at the name and the memories crash into him. The casino. The handcuffs. All the cruel words and everything that happened... No, no, no, what has he done?

 

“Cas,” he whispers, stricken. The guilt and shame and horror rise like bile in his throat and he closes his eyes, unable to face Sam. His baby brother, who’s had to stand in this room and listen to details of brutal killings and torture, who’s had to cringe throughout stories of debauchery and scandalous sexual acts, and who’s had to hear all the sick, smug things Dean could spew out about Castiel. Their closest ally, their best friend, their family. How has he screwed up this badly?

 

Sam’s heart clenches at the agony on his brother’s face. What a mess. He reaches out and curls a hand around Dean’s neck, rubbing his thumb comfortingly through the sweat-damp hair, trying to let him know that he’s not alone.

 

“Dean, it’s OK-”

 

“Don’t fucking tell me it’s OK!”

 

Dean’s voice is ragged; a tear rolls down his cheek. Sam sighs and tries again.

 

“Cas is fine. I mean, upset and stuff, but you didn’t hurt him and he doesn’t hate you. He’s in your room, he’s been resting. He’s even agreed to become human again to survive the grace fading.”

 

Despite himself, Dean clings to these words. Cas hasn’t left, and he’s going to live. Maybe he might forgive Dean, not that Dean deserves it. He opens his eyes and looks uncertainly at his brother.

 

“But what I did. The way I did it. I don’t know if he even... I mean, I cuffed him to the damn wall!”

 

Sam shifts, clearly deeply uncomfortable with the subject, but determined to help fix the situation. He drops his hand to his lap and looks away, clearing his throat.

 

“Dean, if this is a consent issue, it’s pretty shady but I think... I think Cas would have fought a bit harder. If he’d wanted to fight. He told me that he thinks you’d have stopped if he’d said to, if that helps.”

 

Dean shakes his head, although his stomach loosens a little at these words. “I don’t know if I would have. I was a fucking scumbag as a demon.”

 

Sam gives a small, humourless laugh. “Yeah.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment before Dean drops his gaze. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’ve put you through a hell of a lot with this demon crap, and you had to hear all the nasty details... I’m so sorry.”

 

The younger Winchester sighs again and stands, grabbing Dean’s uninjured arm and pulling him to his feet.

 

“It’s OK, man. That’s over now. You’re human again.”

 

“Yeah, which basically just means I’m suddenly aware of how much I’ve fucked up,” growls Dean, rolling his stabbed shoulder and wincing. He sways, bones aching, and stares at the doorway.

 

“He’s definitely still here?”

 

“Last I checked,” says Sam quietly, watching his brother. He debates for a moment whether he should say anything, but then decides that he’s held his tongue for too long; the situation has changed now. He shuffles closer to Dean, heart thumping with nerves.

 

“Dean, you said while you were... well, you said that you’ve known for a long time how Cas... feels about you. I know we never discussed it - like, at all - but I’ve known too. For years.”

 

He pauses. Dean was looking at him but now he’s frowning at the floor, mouth a tight line. His fist is clenched by his side. Sam presses on.

 

“That’s why I’m not surprised that he didn’t say no to you. Even as a demon. I guess Cas is just... well, you’re kinda his weakness, that’s pretty well known.”

 

“Don’t you think I feel shitty enough for using that against him?” Dean bursts out, finally looking up, verdant eyes ablaze. “I mocked him about it, Sam. Jesus Christ-”

 

His voice breaks and he drops his head down again, eyes closed and breathing hard. Sam is quiet for a moment before speaking.

 

“I know. It sucks. What you did sucks. But that’s not my point. Dean, you... you seduced him. _You_ did that, demon or not. You told me straight, not two hours ago, that you’ve been wanting to do that for years. That you’ve just never acknowledged it.”

 

He pauses again. His brother is staring at him, alarmed; no, terrified. He opens his mouth, stepping back, but no sound comes out. Sam is pretty terrified himself - this is not a conversation he feels remotely comfortable with - but he’s started now and he has to finish.

 

“The thing is... I’ve known that for years too. You and Cas have never been just friends. And that’s OK, I was never going to interfere, because I knew you cared about him too much to lead him on or screw him around. It was either going to happen or not happen and it was none of my business.” He stops for a moment; Dean looks like he might pass out. “But now _this_ has happened. Dean, you can’t go back to pretending you see him the way you see me. You can’t do that to him. Be with him or don’t be with him, but be honest. With yourself, too.”

 

He finishes in a rush, feeling absurd but relieved to have finally pushed the subject out into the open. His brother’s expression is hard to read but Sam braces himself in case he gets punched. Instead, to his shock, Dean turns away, running his shaking hand through his hair, staring blankly at the wall. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before replying in a low voice.

 

“I don’t know if I can do that, Sammy.”

 

Sam feels a sudden rush of annoyance. This idiotic denial has been going on for years. His brother has some serious issues, but this is taking it one step too far. This is just selfish.

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not about you this time,” he snaps. “Cas has always bought your crap about brotherhood and pure platonic friendship but now he’s got to be questioning it. If you keep treating him like he’s the only one who feels the way he does, he’s going to assume that what happened between you was just some kind of sick game. Can you imagine how used he must feel? How mortified? You need to let him know that you wanted him too, that it wasn’t just because you were a demon using his feelings to hurt him. You owe him that much.”

 

His words ring in the silence after he completes his little speech, surprised at his own anger. But he keeps seeing Cas’s tortured eyes, the defeated slump of his shoulders, the weary hoarseness of his voice. Unlike Dean, he really does see the angel as a brother. Sam cannot stand by and watch his family tear itself apart over this when a little honesty could fix the whole thing.

 

He watches his brother warily, certain that he’s going to explode any moment and reject the truth, as always. But Dean is still staring at the wall, trembling and swaying slightly, lips parted and eyes brimming. Sam listens to his shallow breathing and waits, heartbeat loud in his ears. After several beats of silence, Dean blinks away the tears and turns around, exhaling slowly.

 

“You’re right.”

 

Sam’s jaw drops. He stands still, watching his brother wipe his eyes on his sleeve and assume a determined expression. He’s still speechless as Dean walks past him, clapping him on the shoulder and leaving the room.

 

“Holy shit,” Sam whispers to the empty room, before sitting down heavily in the chair his brother so recently vacated.

 

Dean walks slowly through the familiar corridors, trying to keep a tight lid on the panic rising up in his throat. He keeps repeating Sam’s outburst in his mind. He has to do this, for Cas. Sam’s right, he owes the angel the truth. It’s just going to be hard knowing how to be honest about this with Cas, because he’s never even been honest about it with himself.

 

He trails his fingers along the wall, remembering all the times he’s almost admitted to himself how much the ‘nerdy guy in a trench coat’ means to him. One of the biggest ones was when he realised that Cas was in love with him. It was hard to ignore the excitement bubbling in his chest, the wonder at this celestial being putting him first above everything else. But ruthless suppression of emotion has always been one of Dean’s greatest talents; the hunter decided quickly that he was simply flattered and honoured and that it was best not mentioned.

 

Purgatory was a huge struggle. The boundaries became more blurred than ever; so much could feasibly be passed off as platonic. Holding each other was for warmth or friendly comfort, long conversations about fears and hopes and dreams were to pass the time, the intense emotions were brought on by the extreme situation and Dean’s desperate, all-consuming need to have Cas with him was born of brotherly love.

 

Never mind that Dean was terrified whenever Benny wandered off too far because he was afraid to be alone with the angel. Never mind the soft kisses Dean would let himself bestow upon Cas’s hair when they curled around each other whilst resting, or the way that Cas would wordlessly, shyly twine their fingers together. Never mind that when Dean finally escaped and Cas wasn’t with him, he was falling apart, feeling as though he’d spend the rest of his life back in Purgatory just to have his angel again. Sam was all that stopped him from trying

 

The emotions Dean felt around Cas could be ignored or wilfully misinterpreted, but the attraction was much more difficult. From the first day they met, Dean felt it. Every time Cas came too close, every time he held Dean’s gaze, every rare time they touched. He sometimes dreamed about the angel. The dreams weren’t explicitly sexual at first, but after a while they were more than enough to make him blush when he woke up.

 

Dean sat himself down one day and after a long thinking session, he decided that it was probably a normal human reaction to close contact with a being as powerful and charismatic as an angel. With this comforting thought in mind, he allowed his mind to wander even when he was awake sometimes, but always felt unhappy and guilty afterwards. Guilt never stopped it from happening again.

 

Dean shakes himself out of the memories; he’s almost at his door. His heart is racing. He feels ashamed, angry, heartbroken, petrified. What if Sam was wrong? What if Cas despises him, rejects him and never wants to see him again? If he loses Cas now, because of this, it’ll be all that he deserves but he can’t handle the idea. Pressing his lips together to stop them from shaking, he steps into the doorway.

 

Cas is lying on the bed, on the side opposite the one Dean uses. His hair is damp and there’s an equally damp towel folded neatly under his head. He’s staring at the ceiling, face relaxed, hands linked comfortably over his stomach, ankles crossed. He’s wearing Dean’s clothes, old grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. He’s even wearing Dean’s socks. Dean exhales and suddenly feels slightly better at the sight.

 

“Cas.”

 

The angel tenses at the voice, blinks and then sits up, gazing at Dean, blue eyes clear and direct. There’s a beat of silence and Dean wonders if he should have given it more time, but then Cas smiles at him. It’s a real, genuine grin, almost a laugh, joyful and relieved and loving, and it makes Dean want to cry. What did he do to deserve this creature in his life? That thought is a little too soppy but Dean doesn’t really care very much. He smiles too, stepping closer but then stopping. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Cas, I am so sorry.”

 

Cas’s smile fades but his eyes remain warm. He nods.

 

“I know you are. I’m not angry, Dean.”

 

Dean swallows, looking away but walking slowly over to the bed. He sits down on the opposite corner from Cas before glancing over at him again.

 

“You should be. What I did...”

 

He trails off and stares at Cas, eyes haunted with guilt. The angel sighs. His face is sympathetic and kind, but there’s something lurking in there, a masked hurt.

 

“You don’t have to explain. You were a demon. I was expecting it to be difficult, capturing you. I just wasn’t expecting sex to be your weapon.”

 

He says it calmly and honestly, but that flash of pain is there again, underneath. Dean is taken aback by his words; he can only stare, mouth slightly open. Cas gives the ghost of a smile, small and sad.

 

“It was a smart strategy, as it turns out. I didn’t know...” He finally breaks his gaze, looking down at the blanket. “I didn’t know that you knew those things about me. But you always did say that I was a crappy liar. I guess I never tried very hard to hide it anyway.”

 

He looks back up again, eyes gentle. “It’s OK, Dean. You don’t need to feel responsible or guilty. I don’t want that-”

 

“Stop it,” Dean interrupts quietly, holding up his hand, eyes closing. He’s suddenly sick of this stupid charade. His best friend is sitting here almost apologising for being in love with him. The whole thing is ludicrous. He opens his eyes and looks at Cas plainly, his voice steady when he speaks.

 

“Yeah, I’ve known how you feel about me for ages. And yeah, demon me knew it too. You’re not wrong; I used it as a way of manipulating you. But Cas, the things I said about... about _my_ feelings. I wasn’t lying.” He laughs incredulously, shaking his head. “Hell, I was more honest with you as a demon than I’ve been as a human. Talk about screwed up. I deserve a fucking prize.”

 

Cas is frozen, staring at him. He opens his mouth and then shuts it, frowning.

 

“I don’t think I understand you correctly,” he whispers. Dean groans, turning away and tilting his head back, eyes screwing shut. His shoulder throbs with pain and his head is pounding. He’s bottled this up for years, sealing it away under a pile of insecurity and fear and self-image issues, and now that he’s trying to drag it out into the light he’s going to have to make a fucking speech about it. Great.

 

Irritability doesn’t make him particularly eloquent.

 

“Cas, I’ve wanted you since we met, OK?” he says loudly. He turns back around, scowling. “Demon me was just a bit less terrified about it. You’re in love with me? Yeah, well, don’t feel bad. I’m in love with you too. There, happy?”

 

He raises his eyebrows at Cas as though expecting some kind of counter argument. The angel gazes back at him, mouth hanging open, fists clenched in his lap. As Dean watches, a wild sort of joy steals into the round blue eyes.

 

“Yes,” he breathes. Dean’s scowl melts away and he shifts uncomfortably at Cas’s reverent expression.

 

“No need to look at me like I’m Jesus,” he mumbles, flushing but smiling a little. Cas smiles too, but looks puzzled.

 

“If you’re suggesting that I had romantic feelings for Jesus Christ,” he says, “You’re mistaken. I think you’re getting me mixed up with Balthazar.”

 

Dean bursts out laughing and scrambles across the bed, ungainly with one hand, landing on his knees in front of Cas. He sits back on his heels and surveys the angel, feeling nervous but relieved to have finally admitted the secret that’s been nagging at him for years. Cas smiles softly up at him, cocking his head curiously.

 

“I thought you only felt attraction to women?” he asks. Dean frowns. Without meaning to, Cas has poked at a huge part of the reason Dean kept his feelings secret in the first place. He’s always been so protective of his heterosexuality; every little flutter of interest in men has always been mercilessly destroyed, and every night spent with a woman has served as another layer of security. He sighs.

 

“I do mostly only like women,” he explains, knowing that he’s not ready to think about any other possibility right now. “Women and you.”

 

Cas nods thoughtfully. He shifts onto his knees too, bringing him eye level with Dean. They stare at each other, blue on green, and Dean’s breath hitches.

 

“Dean,” says Cas very seriously, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I would like to celebrate our mutual affection by kissing you. Is that alright?”

 

“Uh,” Dean feels like he’s slipped into a parallel world, but he quite likes it. “Yeah?”

 

Cas leans forward and kisses him gently, tenderly, smiling against his lips. Dean smiles too, and they stay like that for a few seconds, smiling on each others’ mouths like total idiots. A throat is cleared pointedly and Dean almost falls off the bed as he lurches backwards, twisting around to see his little brother smirking in the doorway. He looks exceedingly smug and triumphant, if still totally exhausted.

 

“How sweet,” he grins. “Mind if I get my camera? It’s just, I’ve got a bet to win...”

 

“Fuck off,” snaps Dean.

 

“Sure, Sam,” says Cas simultaneously. Sam snorts with laughter, backing out of the room and pulling the door shut. Dean turns back to Cas, looking grumpy, but Cas kisses him again, grabbing his free hand and linking their fingers together just like he did in Purgatory. He pulls away, breathless and hopeful.

 

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” he asks, squeezing Dean’s fingers.

 

“Yeah.” Dean smiles, wondering what the hell he was ever scared of. This feels easy and natural. He’s not just human again; he’s finally himself. “Yeah, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoot me a comment if you have any thoughts, I love to hear them :) Thanks!


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